


Hero Worship

by Pyromancia



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Piratestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyromancia/pseuds/Pyromancia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska is an infamous duelist, at least in her own mind. She's lived her life based off a pilfered journal that once belonged to the famous pirate, Spinneret Mindfang. So when she finally meets her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter serves as sort of a prologue. Obviously, there's going to be a lot more Mindfang and Vriska interaction in the near future. I'm going to try and update this with a chapter every weekend. Thus consider this part one of a larger work.

                The sound of swords ringing cuts through the air like a cold breeze. Slash, dodge, parry, _stab._ The cutlass bites into flesh. Green blood sprays across the cobblestone. A few drops even hit the nearby tavern's window. The world's best swordswoman, Vriska Serket, takes a dramatic bow. Like she's actually the world's best actress and she's just concluded a play to the roar of applause. However, this crowd is silent. The only noise in the evening air is the gurgle of Vriska's opponent  bleeding to death. He goes from standing, to kneeling, then face down dead on the stone like he rehearsed the movements. Loser like that probably did, or so thinks Vriska.

                Vriska holds out her cutlass, and wipes off what could be mistaken for a grass stain in less damning circumstances. Once it's clean, the sword clicks home in its exquisitely fitted scabbard. The weapon looks goofy on her. It's a huge blade and Vriska, even in her puffy swashbuckling shirt, looks like she's been marooned just long enough for the food stores to have run out. And she's tall, which makes it even worse. She looks like she'd be more at home fencing, or maybe with a dirk or dagger or _something_ that isn't as unwieldy as her cutlass. But she could never discard it. It's part of her growing renown. When they talk about Vriska Serket, they always mention the cutlass. How she wields it like a club, using it to overpower her opponent. How she's always just a second quicker with it, even though logic and basic physics says she shouldn't be. How when it comes down to it, she's just really lucky.

                To date, she's been lucky twenty four times.

                Someone else can deal with clean-up duty. Vriska stomps back into the bar, heavy red leather boots treading green onto the wood steps outside the entrance. She's still flashing her fangs in a crucial part of her "I'm so cool" post-duel swagger. Accompanying that is a sloppy, trying-too-hard sashay with her hips, and a hair toss every minute or so. Vriska takes the seat she had before the duel, right at the corner table. This time, everyone gives her a wide berth. She's _that_ Vriska Serket, she likes to think they're whispering. And _Vriska Serket_ just killed a dude for ripping on _that pirate_ in her presence.

***

                About a hundred miles north of Vriska, _that pirate_ is busy wallowing in her clearly defined element. Which is to say she's buckling swash, and wantonly tackling all the domains under that. An Alternian Naval ship sits in the twilight realm between being reduced to cinders and slowly falling to the bottom of the ocean. This places the Alternian Naval Vessel firmly in the category of 'No longer an issue to be concerned with.' That earned a calculated smirk from Mindfang. She wouldn't want her crew thinking she was too happy with them, but it's important for them to know they did a decent job.

                The other ship, the one the navy gunboat was guarding, is in a completely different category, 'loot'. Which is to say, that ship is in the process of having its material goods plundered and moved onto Mindfang's ship. The target was a treasure ship, but not everything is worthy of making it onto The Spider's Claw. Mindfang likes to think of her treasury as exclusive. Not every shiny bauble gets a free ride with her. It has to be a shiny bauble with _meaning._ Thus the pillaging process goes smoothly and is over before the doomed escort ship sinks below the sunset orange waves.  

                The boarding ramp is pulled back up, the grapnels reeled back in, and captives left to fend for themselves on their husk of a galley. The speed and efficiency of her crew warrants another smirk from Mindfang. The process concludes, and she spins on her boot heel to head back to her quarters to inspect the loot. On her way she pauses by the quartermaster. Hands behind her back, back straight, and eyes straight ahead.

                 She says "Set a course for the nearest safe port. I wish to dispense some of the loot and perhaps even emancipate several of the crew, if they so desire their freedom. In addition, I believe the most recent ledger seemed to hint we were in dire need of a resupply."

                 Her voice is clipped like an attack dog's ears. Mindfang is clearly in a good mood. He think it's sort of funny; she's a tough woman and about as easy to read as the letters on a shipwreck a thousand leagues below the sea. But her moods are infectious. He can't help but smile as she speaks. The Quartermaster nods and fires off a quick 'Yes'm" before going to take care of his tasks.

                Mindfang proceeds on to her quarters. On the way she reflects on the beauty of a ship crewed almost entirely by slaves. The low ranking seamen have been on the bottom so long they can't even remember how to look up. And the ones she has promoted? Well, like the quartermaster, they feel an intense, almost zealous, loyalty towards her. Then there's always the one's she's brought to her bed. Their minds have been twisted so terribly they can't even remember if they love her, hate her or just work for her. And failing all that, she's still a gifted psychic and empath. Mindfang could sense a mutiny before the instigator even knew they had the idea, and her manipulation can quell it just as quickly. She runs a tight ship, almost living up to her own legend as the world's greatest pirate.

                The treasure is a fairly standard haul. Sacred urns, bits of defiled tombs, and various relics from desecrated ruins. There's a particularly nice Alternian Dynastic vase she'll have to make up her mind of selling, or decide if it would make a nice trophy in her castle.

                Once the plunder is surveyed, Mindfang walks over to her bookshelf and removes a black leather journal. From the top of the shelf she also grabs a writing kit and takes a seat at her table. Mindfang begins to fill out volume thirty-eight of her captain's log. She begins 'The log of Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, third perigree, sweep 788...' A couple paragraphs later and she slides it back with its sisters. Without realizing she's doing it, she glances vaguely at  gap between volume seven and nine. She's never been quite able to figure out what happened to that one and having its absence irk her is a nightly ritual. 

***

                In fact, the missing journal is one hundre- no, now seventy two miles south of Mindfang. Like every night since it's gone missing, it's being held in the hands of Vriska Serket while she reverently reads it by lamplight. Her mouth is slightly agape (as usual) while she reads The Good Part (as usual). To her, the entire book is The Good Part. Except for the inventory sheet on page fifty one. That's always been a little dry, although Vriska has been curious why Mindfang needed ten feet of golden chain 'strong enough to restrain a full bodied troll'. It's one of the few details left out of this volume. Vriska suspects it's on the pages of volume nine. She'd kill to have that one. In fact, she HAS killed for that one. Although it turned out to be only a rumor and not even worth kill number ten.

               A little while later, she blows out the lights and hopes she'll have that dream where she's Mindfang. As it happens, that wish isn't very greedy. That happens at least once a week.

                She wakes in the morning to the sound of a busy inn. Which is weird, sailors are usually drunk and asleep until way past noon. It should be dead at this hour. _Dead._ Oh right. She'd killed someone last night. That always generates a huge buzz. As it should, because Vriska likes to imagine she's a Big Deal. And the infamous duelist Vriska Serket snatching an easy twenty-fourth victory sounds like the type legendary deed that would travel fast. Especially since she walked away without a scratch from a troll twice her weight. And the reason for a duel to the death was a simple insult of a third party? 'How insane!' they'd say. 'That amazing duelist Vriska Serket isn't afraid to gamble with her life over anything. But she always wins!' Another gemstone for the treasury vault of her growing legend.

                So naturally she descends the stairs like she's the Empress and her adoring court of nobles is ready to greet her for the morning. Vriska is very disappointed to discover no one is looking at her walk down the stairs. Even though she paused for like what, a solid minute? Someone _must_ have noticed her. Whatever. This is dumb, lame _and_ stupid. The rest of the stairs go past in a blur.

                If it's not her, this means something's up. And if something is up, Vriska _needs_ to know it. She saunters up to the barkeep. Puts on her best suave face.

                "Soooooooo. What's with all the sailors in here this morning? Seems preeeeeeeetty busy to me. What's going on?"

                The bartender gives her A Look. she knows it has to do with the weird Southern Isles way she pronounces her 'b's. Which is to say the _right_ way, and anyone who says otherwise can join numbers six, twelve, and twenty rotting in the ground. Except twelve. To join twelve, you'd technically have to sink very far beneath the Alternian ocean.

                The look fades. Instead, the bartender simply shrugs.

                 "Dunno Kid."

                  _Kid._ Vriska's good eye, the one not covered by what she thinks is a shockingly stylish black patch, twitches.

                "Some ship came into port a few hours ago. Guess it's a big deal, they got shore leave or somthin'. Bidness' been good."

                Vriska stares for a few more seconds. _Kid._ The ball of her thumb caresses the cold pommel of her cutlass. It would be _so_ easy. Doesn't this guy know she killed a troll last night? That she's _Vriska Serket_? Surely he must. But she'd just dueled yesterday, and this probably isn't even worth it. She spins on her heel, and heads towards the exit.

                The morning light is exceptionally blinding today. She's forced to look down at the cobblestone. Vriska grins. It's still stained green. The body is long gone but she's made her mark out here and seeing the evidence of her victory is extremely satisfying. She's stuck staring at it so long that she doesn't even notice the troll sneak up on her, and she _especially_ doesn't notice the wind up to his punch, or the follow through.

                She only notices when her ass hits the green stained cobblestones. And as fast as she fell, she's on her feet again. The troll who hit her has steel in his hand. The melody of Vriska's sword being drawn joins the cacophony of the noon-day dock crowd.

                "Yer the bitch, right!? The one who killed him?"

                She's confused for a second before it hits. This guy looks like whoever she killed last night. And the way he's pissed, probably... a dad? Brother? Something. Oddly enough, his expression isn't just rage. There's a hearty dose of pleading in there.

                "Why'd you do it?" He asks, struggling to make sense of why his brother needs to have a funeral tomorrow.

                Vriska simply shrugs. There's a crowd forming now. A fight is spoiling. For the second time in as many days, she's in her element. Probably a good thing she spared the barkeep, then. Vriska generates that exaggerated smile only a crowd seems to draw out of her. Her hands flourish, her sword sparkles in the unyielding tropical light.

                "Simple. He insulted Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, the greatest pirate who's ever lived."

                He looks mostly confused. Appalled. _That_ warranted his brother's death? Suddenly he's too angry to even reply. To even think. He just knows he needs this huge bitch's head on the ground and her blood covering his brother's. He doesn't even stop to think that maybe there might be a core of truth to the legend of Vriska Serket, the duelist with twenty-four kills to her name.

                When people talk about sword fighting, they like to romanticize it and call it a dance. But Vriska's tried dancing, and she's tried sword fighting, and she could never connect the two. Sure, both have _rhythm._ But you use your hands for eating and wiping your ass. It doesn't mean they're anything alike. Swordfighting is, to her, the greatest card game. A gamble so pure it's evolved beyond silly mechanics like cards and petty bets like money. In this game you gamble your life with the best two tools you have. A body and a sword that ideally should feel as natural to its wielder as a limb.

                The first hand is dealt. His swing goes wide. Vriska dodges outright. She stabs. His sword is there before she can pull the blow. Her cutlass bounces off, and the heavy thing practically pulls her body with it. She spins, turning that into momentum, lifting her sword in a vicious horizontal slash. Again, he parries. He tries to stab, but Vriska sidesteps it.

                God damn it. Whatever that short little sword is he has, he's fast with it. This is a rough hand she's been dealt. She hasn't played with odds like this since number eighteen. Normally Vriska could pull this off in a strike or two but... she'll chalk it up to being a bit sore from last night. She's going to make this a quick one. Wouldn't want him to scratch her. Winning a game of chance by cheating is still winning. And when the loser ends up bleeding to death on the road, that's perfect incentive to always tip the odds in her favor.

                She pulls her sword back, takes a deep breath, and throws her mind outwards. It's a bit like an invisible cobweb. It binds her opponent, slows his reactions. Not enough for the crowd to get suspicious, but enough for her to win. He can already feel it as he brings his sword down in a brutal overhead slash. Her opponent looks shocked he's moving so slow. With Vriska's extra time the touch of mind control gives her, it's simple to redirect his blade. She flicks it off to the side. Before he can bring his sword back around ( _hahahaha oh god he's slow now, slow slow)_ Vriska brings the heavy leather of her boot up to bite his stomach with a solar-plexus rending kick.

                He doubles over. Before he can dodge or do anything else, the cutlass is bearing down on his skull. The weight bites though bone and he slumps to the ground. Vriska thinks it's a little hilarious he's not anywhere near where his brother died. What an idiot. Couldn't even die right.

                The crowd is silent, as usual. Plebs don't knows a good show when they see one. And then someone claps. Someone else picks it up. and in the weird way crowds build off each other, everyone is clapping. Vriska grins like an idiot. _Finally._

                Suddenly the crowd goes silent. It parts to Vriska's left, and into the circle strides the most stunning woman she's ever seen. Which is to say, she looks like Vriska. But... different. Older, maybe. But her horns are the same. Her hair even keeps a similar style. Her clothes are much nicer, though. She looks like a noble, if that noble were particularly inclined towards seafaring murder and theft. For a moment Vriska is too confused to say anything. She wonders if some smart-ass is carrying a mirror. Then the woman speaks.

                Her voice and clapping is wonderfully posh.

                "Bravo, little duelist."

                Vriska is too awestruck to even catch the 'little'.

                "That was an exceptional display of martial proficiency." Her wits come back to her. She's wants to say something suave. This is obviously a woman worth impressing. and there's nothing more impressive under the sun than Vriska Serket, winner of twenty-five duels and counting.

                Unfortunately all she manages to say is "Uh. Hey, thanks!"

                 The woman grins. Vriska is reminded of herself and a shark.

                 She licks her lips, and the Posh Pirate (or so Vriska has dubbed her) says "It was amazing. And it would be even more exceptional if you hadn't cheated."

                Vriska screws up her face. _Wait WHAT how does she know_? Instantly Vriska defaults to indignation.

                "What!? Fuck you, I didn't cheat!"

                Posh Pirate is still smirking. She doesn't reply, leaving Vriska to fill the silence.

                "I mean... who says I did! You wanna try me on, you old hag? I'll gut you here in the street and... let you bleed to death while I laugh!"

                Mindfang covers her mouth with the back of her hand while she erupts in laughter.

                "Young lady. You may wish to redress your tone when speaking to me. I assure you that while you do perhaps hold a smattering of potential, I would have no problem flaying you whole here in this thoroughfare before you even came to the conclusion you were missing skin."

                Woah, what? This bitch has some lip on her. Vriska brandishes her sword and tries to look menacing. Which, granted, with that blood on her sword and her recklessness in using it makes the crowd step back a little. She gets right up in the woman's face. Vriska wanted her to back up, but she just keeps standing there chuckling. Vriska admits to herself that maybe the woman's act could be a little intimidating on a person, if that person wasn't Vriska Serket with twenty five wins under her belt.

                "Oh please do calm yourself. I do not wish to actually engage in any sort of contest of fencing prowess with you. I was simply stating a fact. In fact, I took it upon myself to part through the crowd because I feel the mounting desire to thank you. You see, you have defended my honor! And even though you are somewhat of a brazen firebrand who clearly lacks the most basic of impulse control abilities, you have still done me a favor."

                 Her hand goes to her chest. She's a flourisher, just like Vriska.

                 "Thus I, Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, will grant you a small boon."

                The crowd's collective jaw drops like the man who had his skull caved in by the cutlass. And as intense as the crowd's reaction is, Vriska's is at least eight times worse. Vriska's cutlass tumbles out of her now limp hand.

                Her mouth is a perfect 'O' for at least thirty seconds before she says

                "...I love your journal."

                Mindfang's brow furrows.

                 "You _what_. You have _what_?"

                Vriska steps back. She was not expecting that level of fury. Or even that drastic of a mood swing. She'd simply meant to state a fact. Uh, whoops. In a way she supposes that it might be _kind_ of stolen, and did always have that lingering doubt Mindfang wanted it back.

                However, in her head this meeting always ended with her returning the journal, and joining Mindfang's crew as first mate. The reality is far more disappointing, and if Vriska is being honest, scary. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter. Heads up, this gets pretty NSFW in the second part.

Mindfang stands in the street snarling so violently she's exposing her blue-grey gums. So mad her arms are shaking. Her tailored black gloves keep contorting into fists, and then back into the twitchy hands of a woman contemplating a good ol' fashion street-stranglin'.  The only thing keeping her at bay is the tide of emotions coming from Vriska. It's a storm Mindfang chooses to weather by picking apart the waves.

                The foremost emotion is fear. She's awash with it, tinting every other emotion Vriska is throwing out. Mixed with that is love. A complex, layered kind of love. Mindfang would have an easier time counting the fibers in one of her ship's ropes than dissecting the kind of love Vriska is feeling for her. But she can get some of it. The largest strand, the most powerful, is the love that sprouts from idolization. Mindfang can tell she means something to her young doppelganger. Vriska's dueling for Mindfang's honor is evidence enough of that but the emotion is irrefutable proof.

                Then there's the love born of envy. This girl wants to _be_ her. Clearly, she's heard the stories or _read a book_ and decided the 'Mindfang route' through life was the one for her. The last love fiber she picks at is the love born from attraction. She'd smirk if she wasn't so angry. When it comes to Mindfang It seems like everyone has that last one. It never gets old to Mindfang. Feeling that emotion wash through her thinkpan is like coming home. It means that she's already got her claws in them whether they know it or not. Mixed with the other emotions this girl is going to be _so easy._

Some of the emotions in Vriska's maelstrom are more subtle. Like confusion. She really has no idea what the hell is happening. In fact, Mindfang is a little shocked she's not more confused by Mindfang's fury. Maybe the shock needs to set in? Or maybe the kid is just smart and figured it out. Or she doesn't care. Regardless, an interesting anomaly. There's also happiness. If she really _is_ Mindfang, this is the best day of her life. But like her other emotions, it's tempered with fear.

                And finally, there's a black spiral of hate in the center of the whirlpool. It's so small the girl probably isn't even aware of it. It's the hate born of a lifetime of struggling and fighting. Mindfang isn't the source of this hate but  it's rearing its head to lash out at her. This girl's met her idol, the woman she admires most in the world. But it's happening all wrong. She's furious for _nothing._ In fact, she'd even dueled on her behalf. It doesn't make sense to Vriska for Mindfang to be angry and it's feeding her hate.

                There. Mindfang locks onto that hate. She cannot let that grow. There's something about this girl, the way she looks like her and the way her thoughts even _feel_  like Mindfang's that means she can't just let her go. And Mindfang cannot afford to turn her into an enemy.  The girl's psychic abilities are nowhere near Mindfang's. They work like a fist to the face while Mindfang is the poison in your dinner. But given time this girl might get there. She'd be on equal footing with Mindfang, and with their thinkpans were so alike... it would be a disaster for both of them. Better to keep her close and use her.

                Once she's decided Vriska is a thing she might be able to use, Mindfang's anger dissolves. A smirk begins to tease at the corner of her mouth and her arms start to relax themselves. Oh, yes. This isn't as bad as she thought. The journal was lost, but it might not have been this girl's fault. And Mindfang plans on recovering it. If she plays her cards right (she always does, never loses) then this girl is going to be a wonderful addition to her treasury.

                "You'll... have to return the book to me later," Mindfang says. "But for now, let us discuss the provisional offer of the favor I have granted you."

                Mindfang performs another flourish to relax her muscles and make her seem less like a tense ball of skin-searing hate.  Vriska picks up on it, and she slumps. She looks substantially more relaxed now too, and her tension quickly melts into the post-duel-win-and-meeting-your-hero euphoria people are prone to getting. Her cutlass is quickly collected from the street. Vriska wipes the blood off on the freshly minted corpse's shirt, and then slips the blade into its sheath. _Click._

                Mindfang says, "However, I feel as though we should discuss this bit of business in somewhere less crowded and not the scene of a murder. Shall we find a suitable place to imbibe?"

                "Uh, yeah! Let's do that." Vriska replies.

                She's practically bouncing up and down when she turns towards the tavern she came out of. Mindfang's hand touches her shoulder, stopping Vriska.

                "As much as I relish the sensation of bile-soaked sawdust on the soles of my boots, I was imagining we could head somewhere with more class. Perhaps even a location where the air isn't visibly discolored by the stench."

                Oh. Right. Posh Pirate -- Mindfang, probably has tastes beyond what Vriska is thinking of when she hears 'drinking'. She's about to blurt out she doesn't have the scratch for anything else, but then the word 'boon' rebounds off the back of her brain. Maybe she can make Mindfang shill out for a drink or three. Or ten. It's been an age since Vriska's had enough cash for anything besides rum flavored piss and ale scented water.

                "I just got here so I dunno what kinda places are around besides this one. What've you got in mind?" Vriska asks.

                Mindfang simply flashes her signature subdued smile, and with a light touch on Vriska's back, leads her down the road and away from the port district.

***

                A quarter hour's walk and they end up in a whorehouse too ritzy to be called a whorehouse. It's probably got some fancy title like 'brothel' or 'bordello'. Vriska didn't catch the name on the way in. She was way too wrapped up in the fact that Mindfang had her hand on her shoulder. And holy crap, even the way that woman _smells_  is amazing. Vriska would say she smells like a flower made out of the best things in the sea, if she was inclined to poetic musings. She's not though, and is content to note that it's 'really, really great'.

                Either way, this place has class. You can get rare wines, exotic foods, and boots wonderfully clean of sticky sawdust. Mindfang seems to know almost everyone. Especially the working girls. A wink from Mindfang can even get a few of the more hardened whores to blush.

                Vriska is spoiled by the occasion. What she's drinking and more importantly, what Mindfang is paying for, actually has merit as a beverage rather than her normal 'I'm getting hammered' drinks of battery acid flavored sea water. She's well on her way to being three sheets to the wind. But now it's _classy_  and she'll probably have a way milder hangover. Mindfang seems to be content nursing a cup of amber liquid and watching Vriska eyeball the employees and drink herself stupid. 'Eyeball' in Vriska's case is exceptionally applicable, because she can only use one eye with the patch. Briefly, Mindfang wonders if she's actually missing an eye or if Vriska is the type to try and look like she's a pirate.  She has a sneaking suspicion it's the latter.

                Mindfang catches Vriska's attention with a dramatic shift in body posture. She goes from leaning forward to sprawling back in the time it took Vriska to flick her eyes away to ogle someone.

                Smiling, Mindfang asks "I trust you're enjoying yourself? You seem quite taken in imbibing the libations of this establishment."

                Vriska's intoxication makes itself evident as she silently mouths back what Mindfang just said to her in an attempt to decode her high-minded diction.

                She says "Yeah I. Yeah! It's great. The best, even!" She grins, chewing her lower lip. "This is waaaaaaaay better than the usual swill I end up drinking. This doesn't even taste like bitter asshole! I didn't know they made stuff that didn't taste gross. Well. I  did, but I didn't think I'd be drinking it until I was even more famous of a duelst...er pirate girl..."

                Mindfang stops her before she loses any more of that sentence. "Excellent. I'm pleased to hear that." She shifts forward, resting her head in her palm. "On the topic of prowess with the blade, I must confess I'm rather curious. How and why did you chose that particular avenue to pursue? You're an extremely fetching young woman." There's a hint of narcissism when she says that. "You appear to be the type of attractive young woman I would find at a function for the nobility, being courted and plying her rank. Your blood _is_ of the pthalo persuasion, is it not?"

                Vriska gets that self righteous smirk only the upper crust of society seems to be able to manifest. She says "Riiiiiiiight on the money! How'd you know? Min- Uh. Captain? Marquise? What should I call you anyways? Just ma'am?"

                "You may address me as..." Mindfang pauses to think.

                Normally, she'd just go for captain but it might be fun to make the girl call her something else. After all, if she's going to be a special treasure she might as well have a special name for Mindfang. She settles on something to harken her back to her days as a humble noble. Vriska has her nostalgic for it.

                "...The nomenclature you may refer to me as is 'Lady'. As in 'your lady'. I think that rolls off the tongue just wonderfully, don't you? But as you were. I am somewhat vested in the concept of your personal tale. So please, share."

                Vriska narrows her good eye. Lady, huh? She's not the type to give anyone titles but... this is Mindfang. She _guesses_ that lady might be all right. Although she was just kind of hoping for 'Captain'. Lady is a little more servile when you say it and it reminds her of the nobility, which reminds her of everything she's justfucking _done_ with. Luckily, she's just drunk enough to not really care. And after all, this _is_ Marquise Spinneret Mindfang.

                Right. The story. Vriska says "Okay. Lady Mindfang then! And it's sort of a dumb story. And, uh. You were kind of why. I got that journal of yours and I read it every night and I decided that if I was going to do something it might as well be something great, like being a pirate. But no ship would take me because bluh bluh can't sail. But I already knew how to fight. So I figured it was kinda the same thing, sort of. And then I decided to make a name for myself as the best duelist in the world! Which I'm totally already almost there for. Besides, if I went for best pirate I don't think I could top you, haha."

                She continues "It's going _really_ great though. I've got _twenty-five_ wins under my massive belt now. I'm kiiiiiiiind of a badass. A lot of fun, too. Nothing beats dueling, or beats me _in_ dueling."

                There's a small series of pings as Mindfang drums her fingers on the side of her glass. "Fascinating tale, Miss Serket. But I believe you dodged the point of my question. I did not simply inquire why you chose to become 'the best duelist'. I was also curious as to the circumstances that lead to the decision. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but one usually does not uproot themselves to live a life of murder and swashbucklery simply because they enjoy a book. As well written as it may be. So please. Enlighten me as to the rest of your tale."

                Vriska's smile disappears and she does her best to make it look like she's too busy with her ale. A couple seconds later, and it's all gone. And shortly after that, she can't even fake getting the last few drops. The mug hits the table with a wood rattling 'thud'.

                Her fingers slowly uncurl from the handle, tinted blue from the pressure of her grip. "Yeah... that's not as great a story. Bluh bluh long story short some dumb bitch ruined my dumb life because of stupid dumb lame reasons and I killed her. It's a shitty story. The ending is better, when I figure out I'm great at swordfighting and decide to do that instead of being a lame blueblood noble."

                Vriska picks up her glass, trying again to wring more booze out of it. Mindfang simply studies her. It's an intriguing tale but... she doesn't seem to want to share it. Mindfang has a hunch she'll spill the rest in due time. Or if she gets sick of waiting, a couple psychic stabs in the general direction of Vriska's thinkpan will have her singing like a drunken sailor on leave.

                Mindfang spreads her hands in the classic 'oh hey, no biggie' gesture but with a splash of pirate class. "So be it. I shall not press you for details. But I must admit you have yet to satisfy my curiosity on the circumstances in which you discovered my journal. Would you care to enlighten me? Or will you leave your lady in the dark?"

                This seems to perk Vriska up. She loves that journal, and this even extends to talking about it. She burps and then says "Oh, that? Kinda tied into the rest, I guess. But I just found it with the rest of my Mom's crap when I was deciding what to keep and what to get rid of. It was something she kept in her jewelry box. So I figured it was worth keeping. And I had our family crest on it so... you know. Just felt right. I thought it might be hers? But it was yours I guess." She shrugs. _And the rest is history._

                More drumming on Mindfang's part. "What was your mother's name, praytell?"

                Vriska replies "Aranea Serket, cap-  er. Lady Mindfang. Why? Did you know her? She didn't really seem like the type to steal crap from pirates."

                A second of hesitation. "Know her? Not... precisely. I did know of her. I suppose I'll have to investigate the happenstance that lead to your possession of it. I will have it back though, won't I? "

                A slow, drunken nod from Vriska.

                "Excellent. Now, about that boon." Mindfang says.

                Her hands go from the table to her chin. Vriska taps her finger a few times before saying "I think I want to join your crew. But not as some lame sailor. I want to be a badass, and I want to be important. Lady Mindfang, can I be your bodyguard? Pleeeeeeeease?" She's practically pouting.

                _This is just perfect._ Mindfang is smiling again. It would look sinister if Vriska wasn't so drunk. And if anything Mindfang did looked anything but sinister.

                "I grant it"

                It sounds like a leaking air mattress when Vriska hisses out 'Yessssssss!'

                Mindfang glances eight gross pupils over at one of the more expensive workers at the not-whorehouse. She begins to get an Idea for how to treat her newest crew member.

                She looks back at Vriska and says "I'll be very pleased to have you on board. But you should be aware, I am no prude and rather enjoy the sensations engaging in fornication with another can provide me. Hence, this building. Normally I would partake but... I'm with you, a guest. And I refuse to be uncourteous. So to celebrate, why don't I allow you to take my spot?"

                It's a little surprising you can hear the noise when Vriska's heart skips a beat. Her good eye flicks to the girl Mindfang has her eye on. Vriska actually blushes. "Well. I. Uh. I mean yeah, sure! I don't usually pay for it-" _or get 'it' at all_ "-but if we're celebrating..."

               A quick nod from Mindfang and an even quicker coin flash gets the girl over before Vriska even knows what to say. Vriska is caught off guard, and bashfully lead up the stairs. While she's escorting Vriska towards the rooms, Mindfang sizes her up. Tall, shapely, elegant spiral horns and a bold but comely wave of jaw length hair. Definitely worth the price, and double that for Vriska's reaction to the sudden offer. There's a wooden screech as Mindfang's chair goes backwards. She slaps a generous handful of Imperial coins on the table, and follows the pair.

***

                The working girl -- The Whore she calls herself, is a real pro. By the time they're through the door, most of Vriska's nervousness has been worked out through a series of kisses. They frantically make their way to the bed, and by the time they do Vriska is already in nothing but her dueling breeches. She can't remember even unlacing her boots, but they're off along with everything else she was wearing.

                The Whore's kisses down Vriska's neck onto her stomach. This elicits a moan from Vriska. She's not very quiet the best of times, and with more than a little booze in her she sounds like she's trying to do some kind of birdcall and won't stop until she gets it right.

                At least, until she glances over to the door. Then she shuts up instantly, and goes to cover her chest. The Whore looks confused, not sure if to follow Vriska's reaction of flipping out or to ignore the visitor. After all, Mindfang WAS the one who paid her. That sort of gives her a say in the situation.

                Her blue lips curl. Mindfang says "Oh, please. Don't let me interrupt. I simply wished to sit and critique." Her eyes flick over to Vriska. "I can see through garments, and have been since I encountered you. There's nothing to hide, my pet. Simply be as you were. I'll not intrude. And after all. You _are_ supposed to be guarding me. It would be terribly irresponsible for my newest crewmember and bodyguard to leave my side."

                'Malleable' is a good word for Vriska's face. She runs the gamut of shocked to angry to scared stiff to hesitantly obedient. Maybe if she was more sober she might not want a voyeur but Mindfang is incredibly attractive and she does not seem like she'll settle for 'no' here. And Vriska _does_ want to impress her. She's well on her way, she thinks. She did just win her twenty-fifth duel. Anything Mindfang throws at her, she can take. So if this is something she wants to watch then perhaps she should put on a show? Her face erupts in cerulean. _Oh god she saw me naked._ This is followed shortly by _oh god what if she wants to fuck_ _me_.

                Whatever, too drunk to care. Or rather, too drunk to be as nervous as she should be. Vriska is  only trembling a little. The second she eases up, The Whore continues her trail of kisses.

                Mindfang takes the opportunity to observe Vriska's physique. She's on the lithe side, but with a touch of athleticism that makes her look fast rather than weak. Her breasts are small but shapely and they fit well with her frame. She's fairly pleased with her catch. As far as psychic killers in training go, she could do a lot worse. At the very least, this is one with plenty of bedroom potential. Mindfang is very interested in seeing how much work she'll need to meet her standards.

                The Whore stops at Vriska's breasts and licks the blue buds of Vriska's nipple until she starts her unceasing moaning again. Then a second later, Vriska's trousers are around her knees and The Whore's head between them. The Whore glances up to Mindfang, who nods her approval.

                 With the noises she's making on the receiving end of The Whore's tongue, Vriska could have skipped the dueling and become a world famous singer with no effort.

                Suddenly, Mindfang holds up a hand. Even though neither of the pair are looking, they stop. "No no no. Not like that -- you're performing terribly. The tongue is nice and my... bodyguard is clearly enjoying herself. But you're simply being too narrow minded." She tuts. "Try slipping a finger or two inside her."

                Brushing her mass of hair back and out of her eyes, Vriska sits up and hesitantly licks her lips. Critiquing the critic might not be a great idea, especially when it's Mindfang, but she says "Lady Mindfang, she was doing pretty gr-"

                Another hand held up."No. She can do better. Just wait and see. And do not talk back to me. If I dispense an order I expect it to be obeyed."

                Vriska narrows her eye, peeved and confused. She rolls with it though and lies back down.

                The pirate queen closes her eyes and with a thought begins to press against the slave's mind. It's a simple feat to assert a minor amount of control over her. She's not possessing her, exactly. Merely conducting. Her gloved finger even dances slightly while she pushes The Whore to do things the 'right way'.

                It's not very long before Vriska redoubles her yelling. She arches her back, grabs a fistful of The Whore's horns, and bucks her hips a few times. She groans out something that might have been words before slumping back onto the bed. Vriska rolls around a little, relishing in the afterglow.

                Her finger stops, and Mindfang opens her eyes. "See? Much more preferable." Her leering flicks over to the post-orgasmic Vriska. "and you. Oh my. You make such _radiant_ noises. Well worth the expense. But you finished too quickly. Next time, I expect a show of it. This wasn't just for your pleasure. If I deem it worth watching, you will allow me to watch without stopping and make it worth the time. You need some improvement, but I believe you'll soon be acceptable. You'll also note that my suggestion made the experience at least eight times as preferable for you."

                Mindfang gestures to The Whore. "Now, you. Accompany me to my room, and I will instruct you in a few more tricks. And then you're going to come back in her and practice on my protégé. And she will practice putting on a show. And you'll both continue until I deem the experience was satisfactory. Now come."               

                Vriska lies there panting, and a few moments later she can hear The Whore crying the virtues of Mindfang's methods.

***

                They don't get it right the second time. Or the third. By time number eight, Vriska is lying exhausted in a  bed soaked with her own sweat. Both her and The Whore sound like they've been sprinting for hours, and their hands are barely able work their fingers inside of each other.

                Mindfang, sitting in the rooms only chair, lets out an exasperated sigh. "No no no no no no no _no._ Still doing it _wrong._ " Her voice has a serious edge to it now, like a dancing instructor who's student just is _not_ getting it. "You're both still so _incorrect._ " She spits that last word out of her mouth like an olive pit.

                They both slump against each other. Vriska glances up at Mindfang. "Can we just stop? I'm tiiiiiiiired."

                Mindfang glares at her. "Can we stop...?"

                Vriska hastily corrects herself and tried not to look too irritated. "Lady Mindfang. Please. Can we stop?"

                The chair moves, Mindfang stands up, and grabs The Whore. She's stronger than she looks, and hoists The Whore up by her arms. She then stomps over to the door, and tosses her out. Mindfang unceremoniously slams the door. "Yes. Fine. You're clearly exhausted and of no good to me now. You may cease."

                The sheets rustle as Vriska sprawls out and sighs. "Fucking _finally._ I didn't think you'd make us do that for forever. I thought it was supposed to be _fun._ "

                Her hand rubs her chin. Mindfang replies. "Hmm. Mayhaps I did get carried away with my voyeuristic tendencies and penchant for excellent advising. I dare say you learned something though. And as sore as you are, you were still making noises at number six. You had fun." That last sentence sounded less like a question and more like a statement.

                Unwisely, Vriska shakes her head. "Bluh. That was fucking chore, not fun."

                Mindfang narrows her eyes. "Oh. Was it? You'd repay my generosity with such wanton ingraciousness?"

                Still more than a little drunk Vriska simply says "Huh?" Wrong answer.

                Lifting her arm like a surgeon, Mindfang peels off her glove. She discards it onto the floor, and places her hand between Vriska's legs. She moves upwards until she finds heat and moisture.

                "Fine. You wish to have 'fun'? Then so be it" Mindfang says.

                And then, she enters Vriska. Not just physically. Her mind reaches out, probing at Vriska's mental defenses. For Mindfang, it's like brushing through cobwebs. Vriska  groans. If she has a headache now, it's not because of the alcohol. Mindfang feels like... well. A fang through the mind. She hunts down a switch inside Vriska's head, and then simply thrusts her finger forward.

                Vriska's hips buck again for number nine. _Oh. That's what she was doing._ Whatever Mindfang just did to Vriska's head, the end result is an absurd amount of sensitivity. she feels like she could probably could the threads in the sheets just by laying on them.

                Number ten comes on the second thrust. The third time Mindfang moves her finger is number eleven for Vriska. She can feel Vriska impotently counter-attack her mind, but a few more thrusts and Vriska can't do anything to fight back. One more and her moaning goes silent.

                Mindfang leans down, and kisses Vriska's raw and now silent throat. "Oh my, what's this? Has my little songbird already forgotten how to sing?"

                Another kiss, another smirk. Her finger keeps going until Vriska can't do anything but drool.

                "There, my pet. Did you have 'fun'?" Mindfang asks, grinning like a bitch. "I left your mind a present, too. I'm sure you'll enjoy it at some point in the future. But for now I grow weary. Dream of me. I'll be in my own chambers."

                Mindfang scoops up her glove, and Vriska is too exhausted to watch her leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha bet you weren't expecting that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vriska joins Mindfang's crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize this took so long to get out.

It's almost dark out now, and there's an alien orange glow rampaging through the window blinds and more urgently, Vriska's closed eyelid. She stretches out her arms, totally loving the way movement forces the blood back into her to slay the numbness. Then she brings her fist down on her eye, and proceeds to rub a beach worth of sand out of it.

                Speaking of beaches, her mouth feels like a particularly dry example of one. Vriska decides that she could really go for a drink, or basically anything to alleviate the localized seashore that has replaced her tongue. Vriska grumbles to herself trying to piece together what happened. Which is weird because normally when she's playing 'jigsaw puzzle' with what she did before passing out, she's more hungover than this. Barely even a headache right now.

                Must be the good ale. Right. Good ale. She was drinking with... Mindfang. Oh shit. And then. _Oh shit._ She blushes, realizes she's totally naked, and rapidly tries to cover herself. Vriska isn't sure why. She's never been particularly bashful (bluh bluh great body etc.), and there's no one else in the room. Guess being literally fucked unconscious has its side effects, one of which is a sudden and unprecedented sky-rocketing in personal humility.

                That got... weird. Well, no. It started off weird, when Mindfang wanted to watch her have sex. The alcohol helped alleviate a lot of that tension. The 'making her and the brothel worker screw until they got it right'; that's when it got Really Weird. But the part where Mindfang snuck into her thinkpan and proceeded to supercharge her sensory fronds and toy with her until she passed out? Vriska isn't really sure how to feel about that. That goes a little beyond weird. It's a unique mix of weird and invasive and oddly not unpleasant but still not entirely kosher.  Granted, she'd definitely had the 'Mindfang touching her' fantasy a few times a week, or day depending on her mood and where she currently was in the journal.

                 But... not so much like that. It felt vaguely to her like Mindfang was scolding her, in the weirdest way imaginable. But mostly, she's too exhausted to work herself up about it. Maybe Mindfang was just too drunk or something and really in the mood. And after all, who could really resist Vriska Serket, infamous duelist? If their positions were swapped Vriska would be all over herself too. She smiles. Okay. That's fine. And it definitely won't happen again. Or if it does Vriska can just... propose normal sex. Or something.

                The thought of 'normal' sex with Mindfang doubles the size of her smile. Would Mindfang even want normal sex with her? She did do that thing earlier. So... it's possible. Vriska decides to make a point about asking what all that meant last night. Was that casual, or something more? Would it always be like that, or maybe more 'loving'? Questions, questions.

                While she's laying there, she spends a couple minutes reflecting on what Mindfang did to her. She can still feel the threads of thought Mindfang tugged humming. In her own mind, she follows them, tracing the route Mindfang's thoughts took through hers. It takes a bit, but Vriska soothes them. And she's pretty sure she could now do to someone else what Mindfang did to her. Like a reverse engineered psychic attack. She decides this is probably useful, and vaguely wonders what else Mindfang could teach her.

                Finally Vriska moves. It's the best and worst thing for her. Her joints creak like planks but it feels amazing. It helps wake her up a little bit. Enough so that she swings her feet over the side of the bed and begins the arduous process of becoming lucid.

                Her hand brushes across her stomach and comes back blue. At first she's confused, but then she looks down at herself and sees something scrawled across her torso in cerulean lipstick. It's a flippantly cursive script. She can't make out what it says, since it appears to be written backwards. Pain in the ass.

                A little bit more of sitting time, and Vriska is willing to try standing up. She walks over to the room's mirror, and examines herself. In Mindfang's handwriting (which Vriska has long since been familiar with, although never this intimately) her stomach reads: "Please make your way to the port at your leisure. I have left you a portion of gold to purchase a 8etter outfit, and whatever else you wish to accompany you on the journey. _Retrieve the journal_. -M"

                Vriska spends a moment rereading that because hey, cut her some slack. She had a rough morning. There's also a bit of time devoting to various poses and flexings to check out the 'hottie fencer in the mirror' but that's really embarrassing and even in a narrative way we're not going to closely examine Vriska trying to make out with the lithe reflection of herself.

                A little bit later and she's got her puffy shirt on, black pants, and sword secured to herself with her flamboyant sash. She'd checked her outfit out in the mirror too, and wasn't quite sure what really needed replacing. She feels like she cuts quite a figure, even if the cut of that figure's cut has been cut a couple times and hastily stitched back together. Hmm. Okay. Maybe a new shirt. One with less sword slashes marring it. The trousers look fine though, right?

                She rubs her chin. Well. Silk might be easier to move in than this lame itchy crap she's wearing. And silk is supposed to help keep wounds clean. So... new pants. Got it. A sigh escapes her newly re-blued lips. The sash might as well be silk too. And maybe... oh hell yes. Maybe a badass captains coat. Like, not a _captain_ captain's coat. She wouldn't want to step on Mindfang's toes. But definitely something really cool like that. Something that makes her look as awesome as she knows she is. Something... with _panache._ And maybe a nice hat with a feather.

                And a nice pair of soft, red boots. Perfect. This is going to be a great shopping trip. She pockets the coins Mindfang left her, and bolts out the door. There's an awkward moment where she bumps into that whore and they both vaguely kind of gape at each other but besides that, Vriska is pretty happy despite the rampant exhaustion.

***

                Luckily the brothel is in the 'nice' part of town. It doesn't take Vriska long to drag her ass over to the finery shop and instantly begin to purview its wares. She even made it before night fell, although the streets were lit with torches by the time she hit them.

                Finding what she wants isn't hard either. Again, Vriska has all the luck because it doesn't take much time to find what she needs. She opts for a large black coat with blue piping. Despite its size, and the way it seems to absolutely dwarf Vriska, it's light and breaths well.

                She's also acquired a matching pair of dueling pants. They didn't have silk, unfortunately, but it's still easy to move around in and if Vriska says so herself, makes her butt look great. She's opted for another puffy fencing shirt, although this one is much higher quality than her worn white one. It's also very slightly tinted blue, just enough to make it interesting and really mesh well with the pants. Briefly, Vriska considered buying a corset to accompany the shirt but... she _is_ Vriska Serket. It's not like she needs one. If you ask her (the leading authority on looking fucking fantastic all the time, no questions asked) she'd tell you she's got an amazing figure and no corset is going to do anything she's not already doing herself. Also, they're a real pain in the ass and fighting in one would probably get her all kinds of dead. But mostly, she insists to anyone in the shop who will listen, she doesn't need one.

                And of course she gets boots so red it's primally offensive because of the eye searing they inflict on innocent passersbys. Sort of like if the sun were red, and contained around the feet of Vriska Serket, winner of twenty-five duels. And that's okay. Because it gets people to look at her. Even the few who aren't familiar with her legend. It also keeps nervous idiots from staring at her feet while they talk to her, she hates that.

                A new sash is a must, too. This is a pretty simple purchase. A long swathe of cerulean silk. Perfect for keeping her pants around her bony hips and making sure her sword isn't slapping all over the place when she's running.

                The outfit wouldn't be complete without a hat. It's not just a simple head decoration that she's going to put on her head for the sake of having a hat. No, this is a _hat._ It's so wide and so large she could stand outside all day and never have the sun lambast her skin with UV rays. And the feather. The _feather_. The bird it came from must have been some elder beast from the time the world started. It has so much panache the mere act of brushing a hand against it bolsters whoever did it with a cocksure arrogance. So yes, shopkeep. She'll take it.

                She deposits her coins on the counter, paying exactly what she needed. Seems like a good spot for a tip but screw that, she's not coming back. Hell, if anything they should give her a discount. Or the clothes for free. She's _Vriska Serket_ and she just took the time out of her busy schedule to wear the clothes they were selling. That's great advertising. In fact, she says they should put that in the window. 'Vriska Serket, winner of twenty-five duels, thought our clothes were okay'. That's a great plaque and yes, they should be thankful for the advice.

                And then she's back on the streets. After a bit of directional floundering, she finds the low-class inn she was staying at. Vriska waltzes through the door, scampers up the stairs, and enters the room she rented. She doesn't have much stuff, just a small bag crammed with stuff. In retrospect, she probably should have bought a new one. Oh well. Most of the bag's contents are on the floor and she starts to put them back inside the-

                Wait. This isn't right. She had everything packed last time she was here. Fear hits her pump biscuit like an icicle. Vriska rapidly empties the bag, looking for the journal. Oh shit. Oh fuck. It's not there. She scrambles around on the floor, and still, it's not there. _Fuck._

                It's not in any dresser drawer, or under the bad, or the pillow, or the sheets, or _anywhere._ Vriska is not predisposed to panicking, so her reaction is the grim acceptance that this is really, really bad. Maybe she'll go beat on the bartender a little and see if that will yield any results as to the journal's location.

***

                The journal isn't missing. If anything, it was missing until a few hours or so ago, and now it's made its way back to its proper home in Mindfang's hands. The smirk she's wearing is nigh-uncontainable, that blue lipstick trying really hard to be twisted into the most insufferable shape Mindfang's lips can manage. But really, she can't help herself. Her thumb caresses the ridges on the side of the book, and she skims through it again. Perfect. It's in such great shape, too. That girl must have really been a fan of the contents. The only problem is she can't display it with the other journals on her shelf.

                So instead Mindfang twists her bedpost, and a small click echoes through the captain's cabin. A little drawer protrudes from the side of it. She pulls it open, and reverently sets the journal down next to a couple choice sapphires and other things she'd like to keep hidden from prying eyes. Mindfang wishes she could tell someone about this plan. It's so wonderful in its execution and thoughtfulness that its almost her duty to say it. But she can't. Alas, the journal will have to do.

***

                It took her two hours and an equal number of bartender teeth knocked onto the ground, but Vriska has finally given up on the journal. She considers running, but can't bring herself to miss out on the opportunity to join Mindfang's crew. So instead, she sulks down to the port and shows up at _the Spider's Claw_. Vriska isn't quite sure who to talk to, so she talk to everyone within earshot by yelling 'Where is Mindfang!?' This is remarkably effective. A few slaves meandering about on deck sort of look at her, then look away. A few look back because with that coat on, she kinda definitely looks like Mindfang. But then they look away again when they figure out it isn't. But a couple gesture towards the captain's cabin, which is all she needs.

                Vriska strides over to the door, her bout of yelling doing wonders for her mood. Now she's walking around like she owns the place. And with the ranking she's going to get, she's pretty sure she might soon. She's not above knocking though. And Mindfang quickly answers.

                "Ah! I am quite pleased to see you were able to make your way here without incident, my new songbird. Although I must confess, I was under the assumption you would be much more expedient."        

                Mindfang eyeball's Vriska's new clothing choices.

                "I see. Was it perhaps garbing yourself in your new vestments the commitment that occupied most of your evening?"

                Here we go. Vriska winces, and hesitantly opens her mouth.

                "Not... exactly. I kinda ran into some trouble. Well wait lemme back up. I slept forever, basically. You uh. You really exhausted me. So there was that. And then I went clothes shopping. Which was pretty great, thanks for the money. But then I got back to my room and well. The journal was gone. But it wasn't my fault! It looked like someone stole it. And I smacked around the barkeep a couple times and he said some shifty looking asshole went in that direction and came back with a package. I bet they stole it!"

                Mindfang had paid the bartender pretty well to make sure he leaked the story about the thief. That means Vriska would be a lot more likely to show up, rather than running or thinking she lost it. Shame about his teeth though. Mindfang puts on her best 'mad' face. Which doesn't have anything on the one she used in the street this morning, but she's still barring enough fang to be more than intimidating. Especially if you were expecting to get chewed out, like Vriska is.

                "How is that even possible? I am positively floored by the balderdash notion that you could not manage to keep your hands on an item I was allowing you to borrow. I want my journal back. I cannot allow you to join my crew until you return it to me."

                Vriska's eye goes wide. No. _No._ She was so close. And expecting to get yelled at. But barred from entry? That's a fate worse than keelhauling.

                "Oh man no _please_ let me join! I'll do anything! And I dunno what happened to the journal, I tried to track it down again but it's gone! And I could like... probably just rewrite it for you. I've seriously got that whole book memorized."

                Mindfang taps the brim of her hat. Hmm. She tries really hard to make it look like she's giving Vriska a special exception here, instead of simply arriving at a forgone conclusion.

                "I suppose I can staunch my fury and allow you to join. However. You should be aware that since you lost my journal, there will be extenuating circumstances in the terms of your employment."

               Vriska nods hesitantly. Sure it wasn't actually her fault she lost the journal. But she does feel kinda guilty. After all, that thing's been in the same vicinity as her since she left home with it. Of course the one time she forgets to watch out for it, it gets stolen. It must be extremely valuable. Or something.

                Vriska lessens her wince when she sees this might work out, and says, "All right. I guess that's okay. As long as I get to join. What kind of circumstances?"

                That smirk is back on Mindfang's face. The annoying one with all the fangs. She replies, "This is a slave vessel. Since you've wronged me, you'll be joining as a slave. Or rather, an indentured servant. The terms of your release will be catching the thief, and returning the journal to my eagerly awaiting hands. Is this acceptable?"

                The ship goes quiet. Vriska is pretty sure Mindfang just asked her to be a slave. That's... an awfully big commitment. Mindfang can feel the waves of uncertainty waft off Vriska like cold from a freezer. It's a pretty easy task for her mind to step out of her braincase, and slip between Vriska's defenses. Just a little nudge to get her to say yes. Vriska doesn't even notice Mindfang is there.

                After this, it's a little tougher for Vriska to say, "Uh yeah fuck that I'm gonna have to pass. Could I like, join as maybe a lower level officer or something? I mean, it's cool if I can't be your bodyguard. But slave? Nah I think I'm gonna say no."

                Another hat brim touch by Mindfang. Thinking. She ramps up the pressure on Vriska's 'yes' level.

                "Oh, don't worry. You'll not be rowing or anything plebian like that. I have potential uses for you that may call for your particular brand of ruffianism. I also would like to hone your psychic abilities. Right now you try to kill people by cutting down a tree, and dropping it on them. But there's so much more you could be doing with that wood. You could craft it into planks, and build a ship. You might use it to burn and keep yourself warm. You could even shape it into a spear. My point, my pet, is there is a lot more to using your abilities than simply hitting opponents with the blunt force of your unshaped mind."

                Mindfang strolls over to her window, staring out at the inky nighttime sea and the reflection of Vriska in the glass.

                "Mostly though, you'll be doing whatever I wish of you. The first order of business though is changing into something befitting your station. Please, discard your raiments and retrieve something from the lower wardrobe. I've many slave garments in there."

                Again, Vriska's pump biscuit descends into the deepest pit of her stomach. This is so lame. She gets to join Mindfang's crew, but she's gotta lose her new clothes for what is probably a burlap sack. And she doesn't get to be a badass bodyguard. But... at least she's a part of the crew. She doesn't think it'll take long to track down the journal. And after all, she is Vriska Serket. No way she can't work her way up through the ranks. It'll only suck for a little while. And at least Mindfang is here.

                Vriska sighs. "Fine. I'll get the stupid slave clothes. But this sucks. And I'm _not_ doing any slave crap. I'm just gonna do my regular stuff but you can call me a slave. Deal? Deal." She goes over to the dresser drawer, and begins to rummage.

                "Tch tch. Please, reign in your attitude. I assure you it won't be exceptionally terrible. After all, I have plans for you to join me in various activities and I'm sure you'll relish that opportunity." She pauses. "Did I mention that all my slaves are trained to come on command? That's an important skill, but I think you'll find you already know it."

                There's a lot of clothes in there. A bunch are some degree of skimpy, or excessively formal. There's even an actual burlap sack with a head hole. But Vriska settles on a harem girl outfit. It's... somewhat incredibly see-though and more than a little risque. But it'll let her move as easy as her good fencing duds, and hey, they don't look that bad. Some kind of purple and black number.

                "Pfff. Good luck. I don't really do the whole 'orders' thing."

                And of course, that's exactly what Mindfang wanted Vriska to say. "Oh? You misunderstand. That present I left for you in your mind. That's what let's me do it. You see I whistle..." She purses her lips, and whistles a low note. "...and you come."

                Oh. She didn't mean like, 'Vriska, get over here' come. She meant like... the warm feeling mounting between Vriska's legs. _Oh._ Even a little tone makes it hard for Vriska to stand. 

                "See? Wonderful little trick, is it not? Very useful. Even if you can't actually hear me, it'll work. So just know that when you feel suddenly, inexplicably aroused, I desire your presence. It's a bit like... allow me to continue the wood metaphor. I've crafted my tree into a mandolin, and I'm playing it. Whistling is the catalyst that allows you to listen to my music. And with that I can play precisely akin to an instrument. And I assure you, I'm quite skilled."

                "Uh. Wow. I. Okay." Vriska is a little more than stunned by this revelation.

                Mindfang turns around and snarls. "That's 'yes lady Mindfang'. Do not forget again. And hurry up and change.

                Right. Changing. It doesn't take Vriska very long to wiggle out of her good clothes and into the harem girl outfit. It's pretty simplistic. A pair of very sheer pants, and a top that hangs of via the willpower of the wearer. She'd be a little more self-conscious but Mindfang has already been pretty intimate with most of Vriska so she doesn't even bother dwelling too hard on covering herself while changing. She does however, forgo the veil. It seems really annoying to have that in her face all day.

                Once she's dressed, Mindfang nods her approval. She says, "Now that's you're properly garbed, perhaps we should put your mouth to a task that isn't assaulting the eardrums of everyone within earshot."

                She makes her way over to the bed, unlacing her trousers and stepping out of them while she walks. By the time she's at the bed, the lower half of her is totally naked. She sits down, parting her legs just a little bit.

                Mindfang arches a perfect eyebrow. "Well? I do hope I am do not need to tell you what to do every single time I want something."

                That happened quicker than Vriska thought it would. Vriska just She walks over to Mindfang, kneeling between her legs. She looks up, locks her eye on Mindfang's. It's a silent question if this is really what Mindfang wants. Like, is this a thing Vriska is really supposed to be doing right now? Her face is plastered with 'confused' and 'flippant'.

                Mindfang's answer is to grab Vriska's hair, and pull Vriska's head forward. This does a significant job of jumpstarting the process of what Mindfang wants done. Because Vriska's options are to use her mouth, or just sort of hang out between Mindfang's legs which let's be honest, sounds really awkward.

                A few seconds in, Mindfang begins to critique Vriska. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression you've done this before."

                Her next brazenly illuminated pearl of wisdom comes in the form of an impatient "You do have one of these, yes? I believe I saw it last night. All the parts are the same. You really should be better at that this."

                She keeps going on and on like that. Her next bit of commentary is "No really, you are allowed to actually try. There's no harm in using your tongue, either. No need to be modest at this point."

                To her credit it takes Vriska way longer to get fed up with Mindfang than it does with regular people. But after about ten minutes of a quip every thirty seconds, it gets pretty old. Combined with her recent enslaving, and her exhaustion, it's a recipe for Vriska to stop and speak up.

                "Holy shit. Can you just let me do this? Trust me, I'm great! If you stop moving and just let me do it!"

                Mindfang glares at Vriska, and quickly raises her gloved hand. She swings it down, smacking Vriska. "No backtalk. And again, you've failed to address me as Lady Mindfang. If you continue such insubordination, I will have you confined to the brig. Now please. Continue."

                Vriska glares cutlasses at Mindfang, but decides she's not really in the mood for this right now. Besides, it is Mindfang. Maybe this isn't so bad if she'll just stop saying stuff.

                It only takes a few more minutes. Mindfang keeps quiet, and Vriska keeps working. She only knows she's done by the way Mindfang squeezes her hair, and then let's go. She stands up, releasing Vriska.

                "Hmm. That was passable. You need a lot more experience though to measure up to the standards I expect from crew."

                Vriska clambers up onto Mindfang's bed, sprawling out on the sheets. "Bluh bluh BLUH. Whatever! I'm just tired and you were being really tough about it _Lady_ Mindfang. I'll do better next time."

                The sea hasn't changed at all, but Mindfang keeps staring out at it. "Oh, yes. You'd better. As I stated previously-"

                She turns around, finding Vriska already passed out. Whoops. Guess the exhaustion and mental assaults kinda built up there. She already looks dead asleep. Like the totally knocked-out, unmoving kind.   

                Another glare at Vriska. That definitely is _not_ where she's supposed to be sleeping. Although... Mindfang does consider it kind of her fault for exhausted. She _is_ asleep. And it's not like moving her is going to be easy. And she _did_ sign up pretty easy. But only because Mindfang's been busy messing with her head. So maybe, just this once, she'll let her sleep.

                Mindfang grabs the corner of the sheets, and pulls them up over Vriska. She pushes the fabric under her, tucking her in. Like everything else on her ship, what she does it rigidly efficient. Almost military. She doesn't stop until Vriska is almost immobilized in a blanket cocoon. And now Mindfang is smirking again. Vriska's tumbled right into her web. 


End file.
